Free The Mammoth Book of Angels & Demons by Paula Guran

the truth. You seem like the type.”
    I declared that I was alive for the time being.
    “That’s the best anybody can say.”
    “But the cars—” Eira began.
    “Some drive, some fly.” He had discovered slices of ham in the refrigerator, and he slapped them into the frying pan as though he were dealing blackjack. “I used to wonder what they did with all the cars down there.”
    “But you don’t any more.” Eira was going along now, once more willing to play what she thought (or wished me to believe she thought) a rather silly game. “So you found out. What is it?”
    “Nope.” He pulled out one of the wooden, yellow-enameled kitchen chairs and sat down with such force I was surprised it did not break. “I quit wondering, that’s all. I’ll find out soon enough, or I won’t. But in places this close – I guess there’s others – you get four kinds of folks.” He displayed thick fingers, each with a ring that looked as if it had cost a great deal more than Eira’s. “There’s guys that’s still alive, like our friend here.” He clenched one finger. “Then there’s staff. You know what I mean?”
    Eira looked puzzled. “Devils?”
    “J. Gunderson Foulweather—” the demon jerked his thumb at his vest “—doesn’t call anybody racial names unless they hurt him or his, especially when there’s liable to be a few eating breakfast in the morning. Staff, okay? Free angels. Some of them are business contacts of mine. They told me about this place, that’s why I came the first time.”
    He clenched a second finger and touched third with the index finger of his free hand. “Then there’s future inmates. You used a word J. Gunderson Foulweather himself wouldn’t say in the presence of a lady, but since you’re the only lady here, no harm done. Colonists, okay?”
    “Wait a minute.” Eira looked from him to me. “You both claim they stop off here.”
    We nodded.
    “On their way to Hell. So why do they go? Why don’t they just go off—” she hesitated, searching for the right word, and finished weakly “—back home or something?”
    The demon boomed, “You want to field this one?”
    I shook my head. “Your information is superior to mine, I feel certain.”
    “Okay, a friend of mine was born and raised in Newark, New Jersey. You ever been to Newark?”
    “No,” Eira said.
    “Some parts are pretty nice, but it’s not, like, the hub of Creation, see? He went to France when he was twenty-two and stayed twenty years, doing jobs for American magazines around Paris. Learned to speak the language better than the natives. He’s a photographer, a good one.”
    The demon’s coffee had begun to perc. He glanced around at it, sniffed appreciatively, and turned back to us, still holding up his ring and little fingers. “Twenty years, then he goes back to Newark. J. Gunderson Foulweather doesn’t stick his nose into other people’s business, but I asked him the same thing you did me, how come? He said he felt he belonged there.”
    Eira nodded slowly.
    I said, “The staff, as you call them, might hasten the process, I imagine.”
    The demon appeared thoughtful. “Could be. Sometimes, anyhow.” He touched the fourth and final finger. “All the first three’s pretty common from what I hear. Only there’s another kind you don’t hardly ever see. The runaways.”
    Eira chewed and swallowed. “You mean people escape?”
    “That’s what I hear. Down at the bottom, Hell’s pretty rough, you know? Higher up it’s not so bad.”
    I put in, “That’s what Dante reported, too.”
    “You know him? Nice guy. I never been there myself, but that’s what they say. Up at the top it’s not so bad, sort of like one of those country-club jails for politicians. The guys up there could jump the fence and walk out. Only they don’t, because they know they’d get caught and sent down where things aren’t so nice. Only every so often somebody does. So you got them, too, headed out. Anybody want